


Patience

by glitterburn (orphan_account)



Category: Peacemaker Kurogane
Genre: M/M, PWP, rounds of kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-02
Updated: 2010-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-09 06:28:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/glitterburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Hijikata, sex is a lesson as well as a game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patience

Souji enters the room noiselessly on bare feet, carrying the tea in one hand. He knows which of the floorboards creak loudest and steps across them with care. It's not because he's concerned with the noise alerting anyone outside. It's because he finds silence exciting.

Hijikata doesn't look up at his approach. He remains seated on the floor, pages of reports spread out on the low desk in front of him. The paper is stained grey with shadow and gold from the glow of a solitary candle stub. The wax has melted into deep runnels, the cheap tallow underlying the sweeter, stronger scent of tobacco.

With both hands around the cup now, Souji kneels beside the desk. Steam rises from the surface of the tea and brushes against his cheek. He blinks, moving his head slightly. His hair tumbles forwards, loose and soft, brushed out to a fine gloss just for tonight. Hijikata has always liked his hair, and Souji knows how to show it to best advantage.

He sets down the tea and, still on his knees, shuffles around the desk until he's opposite Hijikata. Moonlight shines through the paper windowpanes, shedding an unearthly glow over the room and deepening the shadows. Hijikata seems absorbed in the reports. His clay pipe lies forgotten on the floor, a fresh pinch of tobacco spilling from the bowl. He hasn't given any sign of noticing Souji's presence. He hasn't even looked towards the cup of tea. He continues to read, brow furrowed, tendrils of ink-black hair framing the hard lines of his face.

Souji puts his hands in his lap and waits. He can be patient.

It began as a lesson when he joined the Shinsengumi, but now Souji doesn't know if he is master or student. At first, it was Hijikata's way of teaching him the necessary humility of a samurai. Souji remembers the shock of being ignored. He, one of the greatest swordsmen in Japan, a prodigy forged and tempered to become one with the blade, accustomed to the praise and awe of his peers and betters—he, a genius with the sword... and an utter brat. No one ignored a genius, just as no one ignored a brat, but Hijikata did precisely that. He would send for Souji and then ignore him.

It had hurt his pride, but in the time spent kneeling and waiting for Hijikata's attention, something changed. Souji began to enjoy it. Part meditation, part anticipation, he turned his childish anger into longing and desire. Now it's a game they play, a ritual acted out each month. The night of the full moon is best, for then they need no candles to illuminate their pleasure. Candles indicate the passage of minutes and hours, and Souji prefers to reckon their time together by the path of the moon through the heavens.

Cold settles around him, and Souji shivers. He glances towards the bedroll spread out in the centre of the room, one corner of the quilt turned back in invitation. A sensible man would crawl into bed and keep warm, but Souji knows if he does that, Hijikata will get up and leave. Sex is a potent lure. Souji doesn't want to find someone else to do this with and he doesn't want the comfort of his hand. He wants Hijikata, and he's prepared to wait for him all night.

The paper rustles. Hijikata glances up and pins Souji with a look. A dart of lust strikes through him, sharp and sudden, and Souji quivers with the force of it. His body tightens; he presses his thighs together, hands kneading in his lap, his erection immediate, thick and hard. He catches his breath and holds Hijikata's gaze, acknowledging the glint of amusement in his eyes. The game that began as a lesson in patience has become a contest of wills. Souji wonders which of them will break first. Hijikata always keeps track of these things, but Souji isn't about to ask him.

Hijikata looks away, breaking the connection. He returns his attention to the papers, slowly collecting them together on his desk into a neat pile. He picks up his pipe, stuffs the loose tobacco into the bowl, and lays it across the topmost sheet. At last he lifts the cup and takes a single sip of tea, and then he reaches forward and snuffs out the flame of the candle between his thumb and forefinger.

The room seems both darker and lighter. Souji waits, anticipation rising, a steady thrum of need beating inside him. He's conscious of his shortened breathing, of the tension in his body, the coiled hunger. The brush of his light cotton yukata over his swollen cock is maddening, and he feels his patience unwinding like a leash.

With calm, unhurried movements, Hijikata gets up, cradling the cup in one hand. Careless of the creaking floorboards, he walks a half-circle around Souji to stand behind him. Awareness fills Souji. His nape is bathed in a warm prickle of sweat beneath the heavy fall of hair. His skin feels too tight, his body too ripe to be contained. Silence roars in his ears as he strains to hear the slightest sound. He thinks it would take only a touch for him to come right there and then.

"Strip," says Hijikata, and his voice is deep, expressionless.

Souji gasps, more in reaction to the shattering of the quiet than to the command. He unfastens the sash around his waist, and instead of steadying his nerves, the action makes him tremble. In a fight, once battle is joined he can find an inner calm even in his rage. With Hijikata, he's not certain of anything. He can't find his way to composure until they're both spent.

He rolls his shoulders in an elegant shrug, and the yukata slides down his arms. Souji lets it fall, lifting his hands free, and the robe gathers around his knees on the floor. He's naked, the chill of the night air pressing against him, heightening the sense of anticipation.

"Lean forward."

Souji obeys, his breath rapid and hot in his throat. He knows what Hijikata sees: a pale, slender body illuminated by moonlight, the curve of a pretty back, thighs slightly spread, arse thrust up in shameless invitation. He lowers his head, the length of his hair sliding across his skin to hang over his shoulders to the floor, curtaining his face.

He waits, remembering to breathe, nerves stretched and frayed, and then he's aware of movement, the flutter of a sleeve. A heartbeat later there's the sudden, shocking splash of warm tea over his back. He bites back a yelp of surprise. Hijikata pours the tea down over his spine and into the cleft of his arse.

The cup clatters to the floor. Hijikata makes a pleased sort of rumble as he kneels and paints his fingers through the spill of tea. The caress is fleeting and all the more precious for its brevity. Hijikata slides his hand down over Souji's arse, gathering wetness, then he pushes a finger deep inside him.

Souji can't stop the moan that escapes him. He loves this moment too much to deny his pleasure in it—the moment when Hijikata breaches him, opens him. He pushes back and gasps at the intrusion of a second finger. Heat burns through him; he rocks forward on his hands and knees, shivering with tension.

Hijikata finger-fucks him some more, then withdraws his hand. He crouches beside Souji and catches up a handful of his hair. He tugs on it. "Bed."

A sigh flutters from Souji's lips as he crawls over to the bedroll. Hijikata lets go of his hair and stretches out on the quilt, his eyes gleaming in the half light. He doesn't speak again, but guides Souji's hands to the opening of his black yukata.

Desperate to touch, Souji shoves aside the folds of cloth until he encounters bare skin. He licks his lips, anticipation now a thundering torrent of raw need. He curves both hands around Hijikata's cock, enclosing its heat and strength. He frees it from the covering of the yukata, stroking upwards, and murmurs at the sticky wetness leaking from the slit.

Hijikata is bigger than any other man he's taken, and the only position Souji finds comfortable is on top. He tosses his head, flicking back his hair, and straddles Hijikata. The dribbles of tea are drying on his back; he needs to do this faster. Souji tilts his hips as Hijikata draws up his knees and tucks his hands behind his head, his expression one of polite enquiry. The look infuriates Souji, and he sits on Hijikata's cock with less grace than he'd intended.

Tea is not the best lubricant, and Souji hisses at the sensation of being stretched and filled. His hole clenches tight, and Hijikata takes a breath, lust blanking his eyes. Souji chuckles, glad of the reaction. The moments of discomfort are worth a single second of Hijikata's unguarded response.

Joined as one, they pause and look at each other. Souji feels light-headed. The urge to ride his mount pounds at him. He wants to fuck Hijikata into exhaustion, wants to make him lose that bland expression, wants to hear him cry out. Instead, he stays perfectly still, only flexing his internal muscles, tightening and teasing the hard, throbbing shaft buried in his arse.

Hijikata lies motionless, challenging him with his passivity. Souji grasps after his lost patience, trying to stitch together the ragged edges of his composure. He's waited long enough. He likes to think he'd wait until the end of the earth for this, but the reality is different. He craves Hijikata's cock, craves his roughness and his fire and the ferociousness of their fucking.

His frustration must show on his face. Hijikata makes an amused sound and indicates that Souji should touch himself.

Souji stares at him in surprise, then realises with a cold, quicksilver curl of lust that Hijikata wants to be used. It's not just Souji who's delaying his pleasure tonight; Hijikata is holding back, too, waiting and watching and demanding to be entertained.

Souji considers spitting into his palm to ease the way, but decides against it. Sometimes the drag of unlubricated skin is more arousing than the glide of wet flesh. He pushes his knees wide and lifts up slightly until he feels the coarse brush of pubic hair caress his arse-cheeks. He displays himself to Hijikata, who smiles and fixes his avid gaze on Souji's cock.

He wants to make this last, so Souji plays his fingers up the length of his shaft. He rubs his palm over the head, spreading pre-come over the smooth, hard flesh. The touch undoes him, and he abandons the slow tease and instead grips his cock hard. He tugs at it, gasping a little, dropping into a rhythm, and as he jerks off, he rocks back and down onto Hijikata's cock. Souji laughs, breathless, enjoying the feeling of using and being used.

Hijikata's smile has gone, and now his gaze is intense, focused. Souji imagines his pleasure bleeding out of him into Hijikata, and he increases his strokes, speeds the rise and fall of his hips. It's like practicing with a wooden sword or slicing at shadows—it takes concentration, it feels good, but there's something missing. Souji needs more than an audience.

His eyes glaze and his hair falls into his face, covering his eyes, trailing over his parted lips. He's too hot, too dizzy, too caught up in his need not just to come, but to come with the knowledge of Hijikata fucking him. Souji clenches his free hand and thumps it against Hijikata's chest, trying to goad him into action.

"Please," he hisses, and he hates himself for begging. "Don't make me wait any longer."

Hijikata gives a rumble of laughter. "You're the one making me wait. I don't think you know what you're capable of, captain."

Souji breaks his rhythm, startled. Hijikata uses the moment to his advantage. Seizing Souji's wrists, he twists his body and flips over, reversing their positions. Souji gasps, losing his breath as Hijikata's weight settles on top of him. The quilt is crushed beneath him, and Souji stills for a moment before he reacts. It's instinctive, a crystallisation of anger and a splinter of panic and a hammering of absolute lust. He doesn't want to be on the bottom, and he fights against it even as Hijikata drives into him with breathtaking force. Souji arches into it, glorying in it, and his mind goes blank. This is how it is in battle. This is how it is with sex when it's good.

His breath rasps in his throat. He tears at Hijikata, wanting to get closer. He tastes sweat and tobacco. His hair blinds him. Souji snaps his head from side to side. Hijikata is fire and fury on top of him, inside him, and Souji thrusts and parries and strikes again and again until oblivion claims him, pleasure wastes him, and the splash of hot liquid smeared between them isn't blood but seed, thick and sweet.

Hijikata holds on and murmurs violent words of love into Souji's hair. Souji bites him and then laughs, every last drop of residual tension drained and flattened by the orgasm. They lie together, and Souji looks up at the paper windowpanes to judge the position of the moon by the quality of its light.

At length Souji extricates himself from the tangle of limbs and cloth and hair, from heat and the slime of semen and the glitter of addiction. He stretches out one bare leg, pointing his toes into the cold night air, then he hooks it around Hijikata's waist and presses closer. His head is clear, the way it is after battle, and he feels a glow of satisfied warmth spread through his body. He gives a contented sigh. "You don't know what you've done to me."

Hijikata raises himself onto one elbow and brushes the hair from Souji's eyes. "No," he says, voice soft and dark as smoke, "you don't know what you've done to me."


End file.
